


rough replacements

by damerons (noblydonedonnanoble)



Category: Three Billboards Outside Ebbing Missouri (2017)
Genre: Drunk Sex, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:40:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27123302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noblydonedonnanoble/pseuds/damerons
Summary: They ran out of breath in Wyoming, in the middle of bumfuck nowhere.
Relationships: Jason Dixon/Mildred Hayes
Kudos: 10





	rough replacements

**Author's Note:**

> I told myself I wouldn't write this fic, but it's been a month since I watched this movie and I've still been thinking about it, so I finally threw this together. I don't expect it to get many hits but I'm pretty damn proud of it.

They ran out of breath in Wyoming, in the middle of bumfuck nowhere.

(Not that Mildred and Dixon could really talk, but at least Ebbing had some semblance of being a town. This place was a gas station slash general store, a possibly-open bar, and several scattered houses, more than a few of them dilapidated.)

Ostensibly, they stopped only to fill the tank. But Dixon had missed the last turn-off, so they were running on fumes when they pulled into the station. Which was why Mildred leaned across the driver’s seat as Dixon was filling up and told him, “We gotta hold off a bit before gettin’ back on the road.”

“We gotta what?” He squinted into the car and leaned down, settling his arm against the door above his head.

“This car won’t be able to handle the highway yet, not after you wore it down like that.”

“Stop talkin’ like I did it on purpose,” Dixon muttered. He turned away and dug his hands into his pockets, looking down the road into the distance.

“I’m not, I was trying to say you’re inept.”

Maybe she meant it, but that didn’t dilute the fact that they both breathed a little easier once they’d parked the car and strode into the possibly-open bar.

\--

“For an alcoholic, you’re shit at holding your liquor.”

Dixon shrugged, the movement in his shoulders lazy but his hand aggressive enough to spill several large drops of vodka onto the table. “Mama says i’s on accoun’ uh my pa’s family. All of ‘em were shit at holding their liquor.”

“Well, at least you’re in bad company.”

And he either didn’t realize that she was insulting his family, or he truly agreed with her, because he nodded vaguely and mumbled, “That I am.”

Mildred appraised Dixon (or at least, appraised him as well as she could when she was some glasses deep herself), and seemed to decide that he _did_ agree with her. “Hang on now, you can’t go gettin’ down on yourself while I’m doin’ it. Ain’t no fun to insult you when you go and agree with me on purpose.”

As opposed to, of course, when he agreed with her on accident because he was a bit of a moron.

“Why shouldn’ I? My pa’s family were pieces uh shit, makes sense that I’d be shit too.”

“Maybe, but you’re out here with me tryin’ not to be shit, right?” Mildred looked down into her near-empty glass. God dammit, if someone had tried to tell her a week before that she’d find herself in Wyoming knocking back drinks with Dixon, all friendly-like, on the way to kill a rapist…

“I guess I am.”

Silence hung over them for a while as Dixon digested this. It was quite a while, because, again, he was shit at holding his liquor, and he was a bit of a moron.

“You’re a piece uh shit too, right?”

Mildred rose to her feet to go order them fresh drinks. “Yeah, prolly.”

\--

It was about 1am when the bartender finally kicked them out so he could head home. They stumbled toward the station wagon to sleep off the drink, Mildred announcing, “I’m takin’ the back.”

When they each opened a door to the backseat and fell in, Dixon gave his version of an apology. “Wha- I thought you meant the other back. The… the back back.”

Mildred leaned against the headrest and closed her eyes. She could already feel the beginning of her hangover, and she was too drunk for this. “You’re a moron, Jason.”

He’d been curling into himself on his side of the car, but he sat up quite abruptly at this. “Didjou just call me Jason?”

“Nah, you’re jus’ hearin’ things.”

She thought this was going to be the end of it, but this was another instance of shit-at-holding-his-liquor and a-bit-of-a-moron Dixon needing to digest. Mildred heard him move before she felt him, and she felt him before he actually touched her—felt him around her, somehow, his personal bubble colliding with hers.

Then his hand was on her arm, light and trembling. She opened her eyes lazily, and there was his face, inches away.

What the hell.

Mildred hadn’t fucked since Charlie left her, and she hadn’t fucked in a car since she was a teenager, but she and Dixon were both so shitfaced that it didn’t really matter. They kissed each other sloppily, hands fumbling all over, and she had to hand it to Dixon—maybe he couldn’t hold his liquor, but he got his dick up no problem.

She climbed into his lap while he unbuckled his belt, and she rode him haphazardly, too conscious of the roof of the car to get a good rhythm going. One of her hands clung to his shoulder to steady herself, while she tucked the other between her legs, since of course it didn’t occur to him to touch her there.

Some loose amount of time later – but soon, too soon – Dixon barely stammered through a warning before he let out a heavy groan. Mildred’s hand stilled at once—no point in trying to get herself off now.

While she grabbed a napkin off the floor to clean her sticky thighs, Dixon asked, “Didn’ you…”

“No, but I can’t say I was really expectin’ to.”

Another eternity of digesting. Mildred was leaning back against the headrest again, her eyes closed and the ache of desire lingering in her gut when Dixon replied, “Maybe we can give it another go another time.”

She didn’t agree, but she didn’t say no, either.

\--

Heads pounding and stomachs churning, they sat at the turn-off onto the highway. They’d been sitting there for nearly 30 seconds, and Mildred found herself unable to turn in either direction.

“I’m not sure I can kill a guy, Mildred.”

She swallowed. “I know what you mean.”

Neither of them said anything for a few moments, until a truck pulled up behind them. They needed to clear the intersection.

Dixon leaned across Mildred and reached for the turning signal, striking it upward. Wordlessly, she nodded and turned toward home.


End file.
